Defiance
by FortunaMinor
Summary: Times of war are always difficult, and Hermione Granger finds herself involved with the person she'd last expect.
1. Chapter 1

Defiance

by: FortunaMinor

"Are you coming, 'Mione?"

Eighteen-year-old Hermione Granger cringed at Ronald Weasley's continued use of her much-hated nickname. This time, though, she did not bother to correct him.

"Go ahead, I'll see you in the common room, I've got…"

"To go to the library," Ron supplied with a roll of his eyes. "Really, 'Mione, you spend too much time there as it is. Don't stay too long, all right?"

Hermione maintained a neutral face as he bent to brush his lips across hers before setting off up the many staircases that would take him to Gryffindor tower. He had called her 'Mione again, and he had assumed she was going to the library; he had been mistaken, though she did not bother to correct him.

Peering around her, feigning a nonchalance that belied the apprehension coiled tightly in her belly, Hermione made certain that there were no wayward students lingering about; it wouldn't do for her to be seen.

With every step Hermione took toward the third-floor corridor, the apprehension morphed further into anticipation. As she reached her destination, a large statue of Achilles, Hermione looked about wildly, once again assuring that she was alone and had not been followed; while normally careful, Hermione had never felt this nervous—almost like she suspected something to leap out at her; though she saw no one in the deserted corridor, she could not help feeling as though she was being watched.

"Patrocles," Hermione whispered to the statue, which lifted his sword, granting Hermione access to the ancient door behind him.

"I thought you had lost your nerve, Granger," came the imperious drawl of the wizard she had involved herself with.

Turning slowly, gathering her wits about her, Hermione faced Draco Malfoy with an expression of utter indifference on her face; her dealings with him had nearly made her a master at schooling her emotions.

"Of course I haven't lost my nerve," she told the smirking wizard coolly even as he advanced on her. The old Hermione Granger would have gulped nervously and taken a step backward; the new Hermione Granger boldly met his gaze, not moving a muscle and standing with an air of utter defiance. Defiant—it was the way he preferred her; it caused her eyes to flash and the very air around her to crackle with her magical energy.

The first time Hermione had found herself alone with Malfoy had been completely by accident; she had been marking second year Charms assignments and he had been given detention. It had taken Malfoy mere seconds to begin his intimidation tactics on Hermione, and at the time, they had worked. By the time she left the Charms classroom, she had been shaking—a combination of anger and nerves; being close to him had never been good for her.

After the initial incident, Malfoy completely ignored her for a week. Hermione was relieved. She had left the Great Hall early so that she could spend her free period in the library revising for her N.E.W.T.'s…Malfoy had had different plans; he had taken her by the arm and pulled her into concealed passageway—she doubted even Harry knew of its existence. The moment they were safely in the passage, Malfoy snapped out a silencing charm and Hermione began quaking in fear. While she was a very capable witch, she wasn't particularly physically strong, and she knew she wouldn't be able to fight him off if he tried to attack her.

Rather than throw her to the floor and assault her, as she'd expected, he'd crushed her to the wall and kissed her fiercely; Hermione remembered the taste of blood in her mouth from that bruising kiss…she doubted that she would ever forget it. Hermione also remembered the way she'd tried to scramble away from him, though it was done purely in vain; he'd pulled back from her and given her an appraising glance before gripping her upper arms and pulling her against him before kissing her again. Though the second kiss was still rather frantic, it lacked the brutality of the first and before either of them realised it was occurring, Hermione had begun responding to the kiss of her enemy.

When he had ended their kiss, he exited the passage without a backward glance at the dishevelled witch. As for Hermione, she hated—not Malfoy—as one would expect, but herself; she had responded to him, she hadn't so much as slapped him for daring to take such liberties with her, and she hadn't given Ronald Weasley a second thought the entire time it had taken place.

Two days later, Draco snatched her from the Transfiguration corridor after lessons. The blonde hastily shoved her into a cranny behind the tapestry depicting some famous goblin war; neither held any misconceptions about what was to occur. Their lips crashed together even as his hands began to roam over her body, and she made no effort to stop him when he pushed her onto the rough stone floor. When he had hastily divested her of her knickers and freed himself from his trousers, Hermione had vague stirrings of conscience but did not tell him to stop. Moments later, when he had pushed into her, she was unable to contain a yelp of pain as he breeched her maidenhead; he had looked at her with an odd flicker of uncertainty for a long moment until he began thrusting into her.

When he had finished, neither dared speak, though he did help her to her feet and didn't make any cruel comments while she straightened her appearance. Draco brushed a kiss across her lips before he left the small room, and Hermione followed a minute later; she made her way to the Great Hall where she sat at the Gryffindor table next to her best friend and her boyfriend as if she hadn't just lost her virginity to Malfoy.

After that day's classes had concluded, Hermione had gone to Madam Pomfrey for a contraceptive potion; she was grateful for the mediwitch's discretion and lack of questions or chastisement. As Hermione expected, the "meetings" with Malfoy became a regular occurrence. For the first two months, she had no idea when he desired to see her—he would simply find a way to lead her off alone, usually into some hidden passage, before he took her urgently. They had never spoken of it until the day he'd given her a charmed galleon. He'd spelled it with the Protean charm—exactly as she'd done with the coins for the DA. He told her that it was inconvenient to whisk her away and that it would be easier for them to meet in secret. Hermione agreed. She never once thought of Ron.

That had been four months ago. The weather was turning warm and the end of the school term was rapidly approaching; most people assumed Hermione's distraction was due to N.E.W.T.'s, and while it was true that she'd done a fair bit of revision and studying, the real reason for her inattentiveness was the blonde wizard standing before her.

"I thought you weren't going to turn up," Draco said with a smirk. Honestly, Hermione had thought the same thing herself. Each time she felt the galleon's heat in her pocket, she told herself that her continued association with Malfoy was wrong; that she should end the madness at once. She always gave in, in the end. She fixed him with a haughty look but remained silent.

When he kissed her moments later, it wasn't fierce or forceful. His lips were pliant against hers, their tongues sliding together, and when he broke from her, Hermione expected him to push her forward against the wall and take her from behind, as he was so fond of. He surprised her by conjuring a reasonably sized camp bed, which he reclined upon once he had shed his clothes. Hermione couldn't help but stare—she'd never once seen him naked, only glimpses of pale flesh displayed in their haste.

He commanded her to strip; she did. When she moved to join him on the bed, he pulled her on top of him, allowing them to lay flush against the other. He kissed her again, and Hermione wanted desperately to analyse the situation—it was so odd compared to their other encounters, though she didn't question him; she never did. She felt his arousal pressing insistently into her thigh and she shifted so that it rested between her parted thighs. Draco hissed, apparently in pleasure, and began rocking his hips against her.

"Straddle me," he told her huskily. She moved to comply, though uncertainty was etched on her face. "Come on, Granger."

"I don't know what to do," she said miserably, hoping that he wouldn't laugh at her.

"Yes you do," he murmured as he put a hand on her hip, using the other to rub the tip of his erection against her folds. Within moments, Hermione had gained a good deal of insight regarding his intentions; she lifted herself and slowly sank down onto his shaft, taking him to the hilt before beginning to rise gently. He was staring at her and she realised it was the first time he'd seen her fully unclothed; she supposed he liked what he saw. She continued her slow rise and fall motions as he watched her, and, feeling emboldened, she stared back, taking in the sight of his pale chest and toned arms. As he reached up to fondle her breast, she noted that his left forearm was unblemished; it had been unexpected—she had assumed he'd taken the Mark sometime before sixth year.

The room was almost silent, save for the laboured pants from Hermione and the sporadic grunt from Draco. When Draco dragged his hand down her torso, coming to rest where they were joined, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed and she let out a soft moan as his fingers caressed her insistently. He told her to open her eyes; she did.

Hermione forcefully ignored any and all thoughts in her mind—quite a task, for they were rushing like mad. She concentrated on what she felt, on what he was doing to her, on how he felt beneath her—all while she met his gaze. Draco continued toying with her and knew she was close when Hermione's movements became halting. He told her to let it go; she did.

Draco pulled her to the bed and rolled her onto her back, turning on his side to face her. She had expected him to leap upon her immediately and pound into her furiously until he achieved release, when she felt his lips on her neck, she had wanted to ask what he was doing—Hermione was reluctant to break the silence surrounding them. She watched as Draco moved his lips from her neck to her breasts, then down her belly toward the place that only he had been; when he leaned forward to taste her, Hermione had to fight to keep her eyes open. She had never doubted his sexual abilities, but even she was surprised at how quickly he could bring her off.

Draco settled back onto the bed, his erection jutting up invitingly; calling upon all of the Gryffindor bravery she possessed, she sat up and wrapped her hand around him, giving an experimental stroke. He groaned and told her to take him into her mouth; she did, though not for long. Draco's breathing was erratic, his eyes were glazed over with lust, and Hermione was not surprised when he stopped her and pushed her onto her back before covering her body with his own and sliding into her once more.

She was astonished when Draco groaned out her name—her last name, of course, never her first. Hermione gasped as he set a maddeningly slow pace; her hands flew to his shoulders before she could stop herself, though the witch half-expected him to rebuke her for doing so. When seconds turned into minutes and Draco had said nothing, Hermione allowed herself to relax completely…she still couldn't believe how different this situation was from any other they'd shared.

She had lost track of the time, though she was fairly certain that they had been there a great deal longer than fifteen-minutes—the average length for their torrid encounters. Hermione was desperate for him to speed things along, she was nearly incoherent with want and she gave an involuntary moan when he finally began to move more quickly. She had thought Draco's silvery gaze upon her would make her uncomfortable, but found it to have the opposite effect—it was positively maddening.

The once leisurely pace had turned frantic as the pair sought their own release; Hermione felt Draco's arms begin to tremble slightly as his thrusts grew unpredictable. When Hermione's orgasm crashed over her seconds later, Draco's name tumbled from her lips—his first name, though, rather than his last. She hoped he hadn't noticed the slip, though as he tensed shortly thereafter, his release evident, Hermione felt confident that he hadn't.

She expected him to get up, dress immediately, and leave without another word; he didn't. Draco rolled to his side, leaving his left arm sprawled over Hermione's naked torso. He was lightly caressing the smooth skin of her stomach, and Hermione had so many questions about what had just happened—about what was happening in that moment.

"You may as well spit it out, Granger," he spoke, his voice rough.

Hermione found that, now that she'd been given the opportunity, she was unable to ask him anything at all. Draco wrapped his arm about her and pulled her to face him; Hermione decided it was very odd to be in this position with him—a position where they were stark naked, face-to-face, and perfectly civil to one another.

"I may not be back at Hogwarts after tonight," the blonde said after several long minutes of silence in which they were content to look at the other. He was gently moving his fingers across her back.

"Where are you going?" Hermione had her doubts that he would answer; she knew that she would be able to smell Draco on her all day.

"To the Dark Lord," he said simply.

Hermione quickly propped herself on one elbow, "You can't!"

Draco chuckled as he wrapped one of her curls about his finger, "You didn't know I wasn't a Death Eater until this afternoon, Granger."

"You can't," she repeated firmly, even as she settled back onto the bed.

"I have to; I don't have a choice now."

"Of course you do—"

"Don't tell me I can go to Dumbledore," he said irritably. "Had I acted sooner, maybe that would be an option. No one backs out on his initiation day, Granger. No one."

She remained silent, rubbing her fingertips along the still unblemished expanse of forearm.

"You don't have anything to say to me? You're not going to ask me what we've been involved in all year?"

"I have a fair idea," she said quietly.

His eyes flashed; she had angered him, "And what would that be?"

"That I was an easy outlet for your frustrations, or that I was a diversion—possibly both, but it's obvious I never put up much of a fight."

"You've helped me more this year than you can possibly imagine, Granger." Draco placed his hand on her cheek and Hermione fought not to lean into his embrace and to keep her eyes locked on his.

"Why was this time different?"

The blonde regarded her for a moment before answering, "I needed something pleasant to remember. I don't suspect tonight will be pleasant—and that's if that madman finds me worthy. If he doesn't…"

"You won't be coming back," Hermione supplied; Draco nodded grimly.

"Puts you in a spot though, eh? If you want me to come back at all, I'll have to come back as a Death Eater."

Hermione felt sick; her throat was tight and she needed to get away from the young man before her—before she said something she'd come to regret. "I don't want to talk about it."

A long stretch of silence followed her statement, though he eventually broke it. "You called me Draco," he chuckled lazily at her look of shock. "Of course I heard it; I'm fairly observant, you know." With that, they lapsed into silence, both reluctant to end the oddly peaceful moments they'd found.

Draco brushed back the tendrils that had fallen over her face, "I've got to go. I'll need time to prepare myself." Hermione nodded and watched as he hastily replaced his clothing. She had to force herself to stand and begin to dress herself, and had only managed to slip on her knickers and skirt before he was standing before her fully clothed. He looked dishevelled—something that was completely uncharacteristic for Draco Malfoy. He didn't say a word, merely tilted her chin upwards before covering her lips with his own. When he turned to go, Hermione saw something flicker in his eyes that she wasn't able to place; she imagined it was fear.

Draco slipped out of the room, leaving Hermione to dress in silence. She had just finished buttoning her blouse when the door creaked open; thinking it could only be Draco, she spun on the spot, only to be confronted by the sight of a forcefully calmed Harry Potter.

"Harry!"

"Hermione," he returned tightly, taking in the state of the room—the bed against the wall, Hermione's discarded robes, and the tousled appearance of Hermione herself. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain why you've been shut up into a secret room with Malfoy for two hours?"

Hermione fought from revealing an expression of open shock—two hours? "Really, Harry," she scoffed. "What do you think I was doing?"

"I was hoping it wasn't…it doesn't matter. I was wrong."

Hermione felt a twinge of guilt—not for betraying Ron, but for betraying Harry. "What now?" she asked the wizard before her.

"What is he to you? Malfoy, I mean."

Hermione wished she could answer that question with a one-word answer—nothing; she couldn't. "I don't know, Harry."

"You've got to do better than that, Hermione," he cried out, running a hand through his hair. "D'you know what this would do to Ron? It would kill him and you know it. Malfoy, Hermione? Jesus…"

"What do you want me to say, Harry?" she spat back at him. "That I'm desperately in love with him? That we're madly in love and are going to run off together? It's not that simple; things never are! What is Draco Malfoy to me? He is unattainable, he is from a completely different world, and he is someone I don't want to need. He's an addiction; a curse—my curse."

Hermione felt sick; the words had spewed forth before she'd had a chance to stop and think about what she was saying. She hated the look of pity in Harry's eyes, and she hated that he had to see her when her nerves were so utterly and completely shot. "I'll wait in the corridor while you finish dressing." Hermione nodded dumbly as she snatched up her dusty robe. "We're going straight to the common room and you're going to break it off with Ron; he doesn't deserve this, and I'm not going to breathe one word of it to him. This will be between us. After you speak with Ron, you and I are going down to the lake for a very long chat."

Hermione nodded, not bothering to force a weak smile onto her face. Before Harry turned to go, he spoke again. "Are you going to continue seeing him?"

Hermione felt her stomach plummet to her feet, "I don't know, Harry. I don't think so."

"Has he hurt you?"

Hermione's mind recalled images of her healing abrasions and bruises after their meetings, "No, he hasn't. But he's left, and doesn't know if he'll be coming back."

Harry nodded his understanding while Hermione vanished the camp bed with a lazy flick of her wand. She caught sight of a green and silver striped tie lying in the floor. Slipping into her shoes, Hermione bent to retrieve the tie, rolling it up and putting it in the pocket of her robes, not caring that Harry had seen her.

Shouldering her bag and moving to the doorway, Hermione turned to look at Harry, who was trailing behind her.

"Are you coming? I know this will be unpleasant, but I'd best get it over with."

Harry shuffled to the door behind his friend, "Hermione, do you want him to come back?"

Hermione weighed her options carefully, "I don't know, Harry. I really don't." As she strode down the corridor confidently, Harry noticed an air of defiance about her; of course he had…defiant was how he liked her.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since Malfoy had gone, and no one, save for Harry Potter, had noticed any difference in Hermione Granger. She had taken to shutting herself into the seventh-year girls dormitory under pretences of studying for N.E.W.T.'s, though Harry knew perfectly well that she was grieving; it had been a week, and she had accepted that he wasn't coming back—and what that meant.

Harry was hunched over Potions notes when Hermione stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room; it was nearly curfew and Harry felt slightly ashamed that he hadn't realised she'd left the tower. Ron, who had been deep in discussion with Ginny, took notice of his ex-girlfriend at once, causing him to snatch up his things and stalk up the stairs into his dormitory; he hadn't spoken one word to her since she'd called things off a week prior.

Harry jumped up and went to catch her before she set up the stairway, "Hermione, wait."

She turned to face him and Harry couldn't help widening of his eyes as he took in her appearance—she looked exhausted, weary with both lack of sleep and sorrow. Her eyes had lost the once-familiar sparkle and though she was tightly composed, Harry knew her countenance was simply for show. She looked as though she might crumble at any moment.

He took her arm and led her to the portrait hole and up into the astronomy tower; she followed him without protest.

"I'm worried about you," he told his friend when they were seated against the stone wall.

"I know," she told him in a raspy voice.

Harry felt incredibly stupid for asking it, but he could think of nothing better to say, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

Harry snorted irritably, "No you aren't; you look like you're about to fall to pieces, Hermione. I'm the only person you can talk to about this—talk to me."

"He's dead, Harry."

Something about the lack of emotion in her voice startled him, "And how do you feel about that?"

"I didn't want him to die."

"Because you love him?"

Hermione looked at him sharply, "It's not like that—it's complicated, I told you."

"But you care for him," Harry hedged.

Hermione did not answer right away. Eventually she sighed deeply, "I suppose so, or else I wouldn't be such a wreck." She held up the galleon that she'd been holding, "Sometimes I stare at this and think—how can things have changed so much in a year…or even a week. A week ago I was concerned about an arithmancy project and wondering if Malfoy would want to meet with me; I never would have imagined that he'd be dead."

"I'm sorry."

Of the many possibly responses Harry could have given her, that had been the one she'd least expected. "You're sorry? Whatever for?"

"I didn't like Malfoy, Hermione…I never have, but that doesn't mean I want him dead. And now you feel something for him…"

Hermione snorted, "Right, so if he had never left, and for some odd reason he and I decided to become a couple—you'd support that?"

A muscle in Harry's jaw tensed, "No. For one, it's Malfoy—which is absurd…and then there's Ron. He would never forgive me if I supported that."

Hermione had been prepared to respond peevishly, but the galleon in her clenched fist flared with heat and she dropped the coin with a sharp gasp.

"Hermione, what is it?" Harry demanded forcefully. Had she not been shocked beyond words at the galleon's sudden animation, she would have marvelled at the changes in her friend's demeanour.

Harry followed her gaze to where the galleon had fallen onto the stone floor; it was giving off a faint glow and Harry, from his DA days, knew that it would be hot to the touch.

As if waking from a dream, Hermione snatched up the coin and read its face. Her hand flew to her mouth at once.

Behind Ishtar—now.

Harry pried the coin from her grip and read it for himself. He was speechless, and only regained the ability when he saw Hermione scrambling from her spot on the floor.

"You're going?"

She looked at him impatiently over her shoulder but did not answer.

"Hermione—are you sure?"

The curly-haired witch nodded resolutely as she threw open the door to the astronomy tower. The moment they parted ways was a tense one. Harry had simply told his friend to be careful before setting off for Gryffindor tower without another word.

Hermione knew it was unwise to tear through the castle blindly, not caring who she encountered on her mad dash to the statue of Ishtar, but as she skidded into the damp dungeon corridor after stumbling down the bottommost stairs, she found herself utterly unable to care.

Nearly ten minutes of full-speed running brought her to the statue of Ishtar gasping for breath, with a terribly painful stitch in her side, but she was there—and he would be there as well. Hermione had no recollection of issuing the password, only that she abandoned all semblance of poise and scrambled through the door the moment it became visible. As if the means to her survival were contained within.

The room was dark—significantly darker than the times she'd been in it before, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The hoarse whisper of, "You came," startled her, causing her to whirl toward a voice no longer dripping with haughty disdain or laced with biting sarcasm. Hermione absently flicked her wand toward the wall, igniting the dusty wall sconces and finally setting eyes on Draco Malfoy for the first time in a week.

"You came," he repeated weakly.

"Of course I did. I always do," she returned neutrally. She looked him over carefully, inspecting for sign of injury or mistreatment; she found nothing. He was obviously freshly showered and in clean clothing—she noted that his shirt was long sleeved and buttoned securely at the wrists. While Hermione could hardly claim to be an expert on the subdued blonde wizard before her, she was well aware of the fact that he hated to be restricted by clothes—buttoned sleeves, neckties, and high collared robes made him terribly uncomfortable; one week ago, Draco Malfoy would have torn the buttons off in his haste to be free of them. The brunette witch moved to sit next to Draco, moving with forced nonchalance. Once nestled into his left side, without a word, Draco released the buttons holding the sleeve fastened at the wrist and rolled his sleeve up gingerly, as if it pained him.

When she saw the Dark Mark blistered into his skin, black and hideous and cruel-looking, the way it marred skin that had been so flawless, she felt her stomach roil in revulsion.

"You aren't going to ask me how terribly excruciating it was, are you?" he asked her, grim humour in his tone.

She shook her head, "No. I'm quite certain that it was painful…in more ways than one."

Draco's response was a stiff nod, and rather than speak, he busied himself with carefully rolling the sleeve down his arm and refastening the buttons. "What are your plans for the evening?"

Hermione was shocked, and did little to hide the fact from the blonde. "I don't have plans—surely you don't want to…"

"Stay with me," he blurted. At her wide-eyed expression he amended, "Not for that, Granger. I would just prefer it if…I don't want to…gods, Granger! Can't you just agree?"

Hermione nodded dumbly, busy contemplating the myriad of things Draco could have been trying to say.

"Granger!" Draco barked at her once he'd realized she wasn't paying attention to a word he said. This caused Hermione to snap her gaze to his, her brown eyes to meet his grey, and for a moment she was stricken by the change she saw within them.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing or to the kitchens?"

The way he shuffled and avoided her gaze only made Hermione want to insist he see the Mediwitch. "No, Granger, I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite and there's certainly nothing Madam Pomfrey can do for me now." He turned away from her then and set about transfiguring one of the small wooden tables into a large bed with several cushioning charms applied to it. Deciding to make herself useful, Hermione conjured bedding before warding the room extensively, lest they be caught unawares by some marauding student.

Getting into bed was a bit awkward for both Hermione and Draco. Once he'd shed his clothing and slid between the sheets, grumbling at how cold they were, Hermione decided to just get on with it. The young witch quickly removed her clothing and all but jumped into bed, though she held back a comment regarding the cold sheets. Malfoy chuckled at her then, a sound that startled them both—it had been a week since either of them had heard the sound from Draco's throat. "Really, Granger. So modest? I've seen it all before." Hermione felt her cheeks flame and expected Draco to tease her mercilessly; he didn't. She was situated comfortably on her back, while Draco was on his side next to her, propped on one elbow and amusing himself by toying with one of her unruly locks of hair. It seemed the Dark Mark was glaring at her; she did her best to ignore it…they both did.

"Was it dreadful?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"I don't suppose you would want to discuss it?"

He sighed then, and it made him sound far older than his seventeen years. "Not yet. It's all a bit…fresh."

"Alright."

Draco sat silently for less than a minute before he started speaking once more, "I don't believe I'll ever be able to sleep again. The things I've seen…the things I've done," he continued though his voice was oddly tight. "I took the Mark three days ago."

Hermione turned toward him and began stroking his chest soothingly, alarmed that his need of comfort fell to her—the mudblood he'd been casually shagging for the better part of a school year.

"I have nightmares; see terrible things—some of it really happened, but the rest…I must sound stark raving mad, but I think that those things will happen in the future." Draco snorted, which came out sounding more like a choked sob, "I've lost it—gone round the twist. Having prophetic dreams and all."

She was at an absolute loss for words, which was just as well—he continued on.

"It's so depraved, Granger. I had ideas of what that lot got up to but now that I've seen it…" he paused for a moment, "Nothing could have prepared me for that."

Hermione was inclined to clap her hands over her ears and sing to herself as she'd done as a child. She had no desire to hear the finer points of Death Eater merrymaking or initiation; he had no intention of quietening down.

"There were six recruits in my initiation class and three of them were killed before being Marked. Another was killed after he refused to rape a muggle girl."

"Malfoy," Hermione said, voice trembling. "What did you do?"

He swallowed thickly, "Everything. Everything they asked me to do. Everything I had to do." The tear that rolled down his cheek and into the soft pillow did not go unnoticed by observant Hermione Granger, however she chose to remain silent, for she had tears on her cheeks as well.

"I don't have to tell you that I've made a mistake, Granger. I had two choices—the Mark or death, and now I wish he'd killed me on the spot. But I was obedient, exactly how I was told to be, and I was respectful and humble. I should have spat in his face and signed my execution order."

"Why didn't you?"

Draco laughed, a wheezy, choked sound. "So many reasons…I didn't want to disappoint my father; I didn't want my mother to watch her only child be tortured and killed; and ridiculous as it is, Granger, I wanted to see you again."

Hermione Granger prided herself on being a supremely logical creature, and an articulate one as well, but words failed her in that moment.

"Have I shocked the mighty Hermione Granger into silence?" he quipped lightly.

She paused before answering him, trying to make her own tone deceptively light. She failed. "I'm so glad to see you," she said with a tremor in her voice.

He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms about her; he could feel the dampness on her cheeks against his bare chest. "I only came back for you," he said quietly before extinguishing the lamps with a lazy flick of his wand.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hermione," Harry said tentatively. "It's nearly two in the morning...perhaps you should turn in for the night."

She blinked owlishly at her bespectacled friend, taking in his pyjamas and hastily knotted dressing gown. "Nearly two in the morning?" She peered around noting the empty common room.

He nodded absently. "You've been at it for hours without a break."

She closed the thick textbook immediately and gave a huge yawn. She looked at the table before her, bits of parchment and discarded quills spread out endlessly. Harry capped her inkwell and began gathering her quills, while she began to assemble and arrange her notes properly. Once the lot was tidied away and stowed in her crammed-to-capacity school bag, she gave a stretch that set her neck to cracking audibly. Harry cringed the slightest bit.

"Honestly, Harry, it felt wonderful," she told him drowsily.

"To bed with you," he said in a tone that brooked no refusal. She clambered to the stairs leading to the girl's dormitory and gave him a weak, sleepy smile before ascending the stairs and closing herself into the room with her already sleeping roommates. She tossed her bag to the floor at the foot of her four-poster and tugged the hangings aside before hastily undressing and pulling on an old, comfortable night shirt. Settling into bed and drawing the hangings about her, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the dungeons, where Draco Malfoy lay sleeping.

The next day, Harry and Hermione sat near the lake, under their favorite tree, with the remains of a picnic lunch spread amongst them. The weather was fine, partly cloudy with a light breeze; Hermione could not recall the last time she'd been outside simply for the sake of being outside.

Ron, with Ginny and Neville, strolled by and Hermione busied herself by banishing the food remains and repacking the basket, once the dishes had been properly cleaned.

"You can't avoid him forever, Hermione," Harry said sagely.

"I'm not the one avoiding him," she said grimly. "And since when has he begun avoiding you?"

"He reckons that I've chosen your side. If I were a proper friend, I'd hole up with him and listen endlessly as he went on about what a heartbreaking bint you are."

"Did he really say that?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," Harry hedged. "But he's Ron being Ron. You're going to have to give him time."

"I'll tell you what I'd like to give him," she said darkly. Harry laughed.

The weekend stretched luxuriously before them, and nothing, neither thoughts of Ron Weasley nor thoughts of Draco Malfoy, could take that from them.

"What happened to the weekend?" Hermione groused Monday morning as she selected a muffin for breakfast.

"We spent it by the lake," Harry said as he buttered toast.

"Ah, yes, lounging by the lake. Your cheeks are still flushed from the sun," she said with a chuckle at his expense.

"While you look perfectly sun-kissed, as though you've spent your days lounging poolside."

"I can't help it if a tan suits me, Harry."

Their conversation ground to a halt as Ron entered the Great Hall and sat next to Harry, directly across from Hermione. Harry sent him a sidelong glance and Hermione's brown eyes widened just a fraction, waiting for Ron to speak.

"Good morning, Hermione," he said formally.

"Good morning, Ronald," she returned stiffly. She dared to glance at the Slytherin table and saw the stormy gaze of Draco Malfoy upon her. She'd only seen him once since he returned from his initiation, but Hermione was expecting to feel the charmed galleon to flare with heat any time now. It had been ten days, and she'd twice counted him absent from dinner, though he'd turned up by the next morning's breakfast. She couldn't bear to imagine where he'd been whisked away to, what dangers he'd faced, what atrocities he'd been forced to commit.

"Oi!"

Hermione snapped her head to the left where Harry sat waiting, somewhat impatiently, for her to answer him. "Sorry, Harry, what was that?"

He rolled his eyes and Ron snickered, though not unpleasantly. "We have charms in ten minutes." He stood, grasping the strap of his school bag; Ron followed suit, still chewing the remains of his breakfast. As Hermione paused for a last gulp of tea, she felt the charmed galleon blaze in her pocket; she choked. "Go on without me," she told the two wizards waiting for her. "I've got to nip by the ladies." With a snigger about barmy females, Ron led Harry from the Great Hall.

Hermione dashed to the first floor loo, thanking Merlin that it was so close to the Hall, for she could hardly wait to retrieve the bewitched coin from the pocket of her robe, but wanted to do so in private. _Tonight. 9pm. 5th floor corridor, behind Morgana_.

She made it to Charms, but only just. She took her seat and promptly lost herself in thought. She wanted to see Draco, but she hated when he gave her a full day's notice; she had a suspicion that he knew she'd wish the day away, ignoring important N.E.W.T. review in favor of daydreaming of a certain fair-haired wizard.

Hermione came to stand before the statue of Morgan le Fay precisely at nine o'clock. "Avalon," she whispered. The door materialized and she wasted no time scurrying into the room where Draco would be waiting for her. The room was dark, however, and she was alone, and she grew uneasy at once. Drawing wand, she murmured a spell and the sconces flickered to life, but no sooner than the room became illuminated, Draco stepped into the room and began casting wards about the room. Her breath hitched when he turned to stare at her; he looked angry.

"Weasley has been ignoring you, why?"

She turned away from his angry gaze and transfigured a plush bed from an ottoman. He moved forward and grasped her upper arm, shaking her slightly; though she may have felt the inclination, she did not cower.

"I broke it off with him," she said boldly.

"When?" he demanded.

"The night we met behind Achilles, the night you left for your initiation."

"And are you with Potter now?"

Her eyes widened the slightest bit, "With Harry? Of course not, Draco, we're friends."

"Friends," the blonde wizard spat. "You looked awfully cosy by the lake this weekend."

"You're jealous," she said incredulously. "Trust me," she implored, "you have nothing to worry about. I'm not seeing anyone other than you."

He grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her to him, looking into her warm, chocolate-coloured eyes. He kept her gaze for several moments before nodding his head. "Good," he said tersely. "And, for obvious reasons, this needs to stay between us. It's safer for both of us."

"Harry knows about us," she told him reluctantly.

"You told _him_?" he hissed.

Wincing at the venom in his tone, she tried to explain. "He followed me one night and waited for you to leave before he confronted me."

She noticed that Draco was trembling with fury. "Did he hurt you?," he ground out through his clenched jaw.

"Of course not," Hermione said, shocked. "He demanded that I break it off with Ron, which I did, and insisted on having a long chat with me afterward. He had already assumed we were involved, I didn't tell him anything he hadn't already assumed."

"Does he know I took the Mark?"

She closed her eyes for a moment before whispering, "Yes."

Draco Malfoy said nothing, only glared at her coldly.

"It doesn't matter, Draco," she said hurriedly. "He thought you took it ages ago and has never breathed a word!" That wasn't necessarily true, but the icy glare of the wizard before her was unnerving her. "Please," she said desperately, "Harry isn't a risk to you. He wants me to be happy."

He looked at her again, and something in his gaze softened. "I make you happy?"

The young witch dropped her gaze to the cold, stone floor and her cheeks flamed red. "After a fashion," she said in a feather-light tone.

He closed the space between them and slipped his hand beneath her hair to rest on the sensitive skin of her neck. She leaned her forehead against his chest. "Don't be angry with me," she said.

"I'm on edge, is all," he said. She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. He had not apologized and she did not expect him to. She moved to unclasp his robes and he allowed her to slide them over his shoulders where they pooled, inky black against the stone grey of the floor. He grasped her neck and tilted her head back before covering her lips with his. He groaned when she parted her lips and deepened the kiss. Minutes later, he broke their kiss and rested his forehead upon hers, both breathing erratically. "What are we doing, Granger?" he asked. She couldn't tell if he'd asked hypothetically, so she contented herself with answering him.

"I don't know," she whispered. "We've both gone mad."

He kissed her again, fiercely, his arms constricting about her waist, pulling her to him. She set about unbuttoning his school shirt even as he shed her outer robe and began to deftly unfasten the pearly little buttons of her school blouse. She felt the air chill her skin as the blouse hit the floor behind her, joining her robe. Her bra followed moments later, and he'd unzipped her skirt before she could reach for his belt.

"You're overdressed," she muttered.

"Bed, Granger," he said in a strained voice. She, in her knickers, complied at once.

Shedding his trousers and shorts as he stalked toward her, she hastily peeled her knickers off and flung them in the general direction of the pile of her clothing. She felt herself flush under his hungry gaze; moments later, he was upon her. Hermione began kissing his neck, opening her thighs to urge him on.

"Slowly, Granger," Draco said, amused. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them, taking advantage of her sudden immobility. He began to trail kisses from the underside of her jaw, to her neck, to her shoulder. "If I release you, will you be a good girl for me?"

She moaned.

"Tell me, Granger, will you be a good girl?" he asked in a teasing drawl.

"Yes!" she ground out. "Please let me go!"

Draco released her and her hands immediately flew to his shoulders; he continued kissing his way down her body, though she was squirming harder with every inch he moved. "You want me to just get on with it, don't you, Granger?"

She was nearly sobbing with frustration. "Yes, please!" she cried. Finally, Draco complied. She moaned, low and long, when he entered her so slowly she thought she might incinerate on the spot. He was not content to move quickly, as she learned at once. He wanted to take his time, to relish their coupling. Their eyes were locked, cool grey meeting warm brown as he moved within her. Hermione wanted to babble her feelings, to put voice to the things she would be afraid to say in the light of day, when they were bitter enemies.

He gasped, Hermione assumed in pleasure, and rolled to his side so that he would not crush her. She stared at him as he clutched his left forearm, where the Mark was writhing

"I must go," he said urgently as he leapt from the bed and began hastily redressing.

Hermione, nearly paralyzed with shock and fear, sat up hastily, pulling the sheet to her chin, not daring to speak.

"I'll charm the coin when I return," he said before kissing her gently on the lips; he dropped the wards on the room hastily and left at once.

She clambered from the bed, sad to leave its warmth, but infinitely sadder that Draco had been taken from her with no warning. She redressed quickly and restored the bed to its original state, a dusty velvet ottoman. Peering anxiously in one direction, then the other, she set off toward Gryffindor tower, knowing that she'd never sleep until Draco was safely in the castle.

Hermione Granger had never had trouble with Charms, but, tonight, her N.E.W.T. review was proving difficult. In her current state, she would wager that she couldn't manage a simple hovering charm. Draco had left the castle hours ago and she was terribly worried for him; for the first time, she allowed herself to think the words. Death Eater. Draco was a Death Eater, the very thing she'd been fighting against since entering the wizarding world. Though she knew them to be true, she couldn't associate the words with the blonde wizard, though he'd felt the Mark flare only hours before.

"Hermione?"

She whipped her head around and found Harry standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Pulling another all-nighter?" He came into the common room and sank into a squashy armchair opposite her. She regarded her friend for a moment; how simple things would be if she loved Harry. They were best friends, had been for years. He was, undoubtedly, on the right side in the war looming. He was caring, sincere, and just _good_. And she was sleeping with his exact opposite. Draco Malfoy was many things, conniving, controlling. She'd seen him be petty and cruel-he'd been cruel to her, and here she was, anxiously awaiting his return from Voldemort.

"Hermione?"

"Sorry, Harry," she said contritely. "What are you doing out of bed in the middle of the night?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he said shrewdly. "I saw you come in sometime after curfew, but you've been studying ever since. I didn't want to disturb you."

"I haven't been studying, Harry, I've been staring at my Charms notes for hours but haven't written a single word or cast a single spell."

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

"I was with Malfoy tonight..."

"Go on," he said, though he wasn't quite sure he wanted to hear his friend get into the steamier aspects of her association with the boy who had once made a rather amusing bouncing ferret.

"He was summoned by Voldemort, Harry. He jumped up, threw his robes on and dashed out of the room. I've been worried sick," she admitted miserably.

Harry paused to consider his words, "He's a Death Eater, Hermione. It's always going to be like this, not that you have a future with him."

His words stung and she made no reply.

"I'm sorry, but it's true," he went on.

"Just hurts to hear, is all," she mumbled.

"Sorry?" he said. "I didn't catch that."

"I said I didn't plan on a future with him," she said peevishly.

Harry stared at her for a long moment; she squirmed slightly under his gaze. Finally, he spoke. "Are you going to wait all night?"

She paused for a moment, "No, I don't believe I will." She packed her bag and started up the stairs to her dormitory. Harry, satisfied, did the same.

It was nearly three o'clock before she felt the coin blaze in her hand._ Ishtar, right now. _Throwing caution to the wind, she threw on her dressing gown and dashed toward the dungeons.


End file.
